The Thief

by Aine Crabtree

  I’m back at school - inside, no less. I’m covered in red clay mud, and my shoulders hurt from the impact with the floor. I push up on my hands, looking behind me. The lockers? Had I just hitchhiked with a...a...I barely believe my own conclusion.

  A...teleporter?

  The creature had pulled me through the dumpster, then whatever was in that cave, and then finally dumped me back out through the lockers.

  “That was AWESOME!” I yell, not caring who heard.

  I hear a door slam and the pounding of someone coming down the stairs very fast. I struggle to my feet, wondering how I’d explain myself.

  Tailor comes around the corner and freezes, a nanosecond of relief in his expression before he explodes in fury. “What in the hell were you thinking?” he seethes. “My god, Mac, if you hadn’t - if someone else saw you - ” he looks around swiftly. “Go to my classroom right now, I’ve had enough of all of you!”

  “All of us?” I try to sound as innocent as I can, covered in mud.

  “All of you,” he snarls.

  Jul

  Camille and I slumped guiltily in desks at the front of the English classroom. On her other side, Destin hunched over as if attempting to make himself not massively taller than the rest of us. Mac stood to one side, arms folded, blonde curls matted from the mud that spattered him head to toe. Apparently he was unwilling to sit and get mud all over a chair since he’d be the one cleaning it up. He caught me staring wide-eyed at all the mud and flushed. “The catbat’s a teleporter,” he said, presumably to distract from his state.

  “Explains a lot,” Destin said miserably.

  Tailor slammed the door and turned on us, furious.

  “You four are idiots,” Tailor snapped. “This isn’t Scooby-Doo. There are no rubber masks, no disgruntled janitors hiding Aztec gold, no consequence-free ending. You think that detention is the worst the principal can do? A note to your parents? Expulsion? You should pray for expulsion. The more you dig up, the more likely it is that Rin will never let you leave. These are forces you aren’t old enough to handle - forces that could easily destroy you even if you were. If you would just keep your heads down, you might be able to graduate before she pieces things together, and go live normal lives. You are helping her,” he pointed an accusatory finger at me and Camille, “and you have to stop. And you,” he turned on Mac, “are even worse. Bea told me everything. You have no idea what you almost did at the library.”

  “Hey, how were we supposed to know tattoo lady was going to - um - what exactly did she do?” Mac asked.

  “And then,” Tailor went on, ignoring him, “you go baiting imps and chasing them through the halls. You’ve always been impulsive, Dupree, but you’re bordering on suicidal. That thing could have left you anywhere!”

  “Imp?” he brightened. “The catbat is an imp?”

  Tailor groaned. “Mac, what do I have to say to make you understand?” he said, running a hand over his face. “You’re the only one in this room who’s definitely normal. In two years, you’ll be free. The only thing you should be worrying about is how to hide Heron’s infernal feathers so he can escape them too.”

  Destin’s cinnamon skin flushed. “What? I don’t...I mean, what feathers?”

  “Learn to keep them under control before someone else notices,” Tailor snapped. “And pray you don’t develop anything useful.”

  “What happens,” Camille said, speaking up for the first time, “if we’re useful?”

  He gave her a hard look, but I thought I saw pity under it. Of all of us, she was clearly the most supernatural one. As far as he knows, I thought, my fingers flexing. Was he worried about her? “Fine,” he said, and pulled a nearby chair. He propped his right foot on it, like he was going to tie his shoelaces, but instead he rolled up his pants leg and pushed down his sock. Wrapped around his ankle was a blocky tattoo in the design of a chain.

  “Never pegged you for a tattoo kind of guy,” Mac said.

  “It’s a spell,” Tailor said icily, rolling his pants leg back down. “When the Uminos find a toy they want to keep, they make sure it can’t run away. I’m bound to the school. I can’t go more than twenty miles away. It’s like running into a brick wall.” He grimaced. “Magic hasn’t worked in our world for almost a thousand years. But over the past hundred years or so, it’s been slowly trickling back - and it’s been getting worse the last few years. Most of the fae and ferals here still don’t even know what they are. There’s not even a guarantee you’ll develop any powers,” his eyes flicked to me for a moment, and I suddenly recalled his horror when he’d met me. “It’s all still so random and unpredictable. But the Uminos are a family with a long memory, and they want to control all they can. They’ll find a way to make you a deal you can’t refuse, and you’ll be theirs. Unless you can stay off their radar,” he said, glaring at each of us in turn. “And you certainly shouldn’t be piecing together any of their research for them,” he said, giving me another hard look. “You’re all preposterously lucky that I was the only person here today.” I swallowed, remembering Kei’s brief appearance. “And even then,” he went on, “if Rin were to ask the right questions, I’d have to tell her. There’s only so much help I can give you. So please, if you have any sense of self-preservation, stay out of Umino business, stay away from the imp, and for the love of god, stay away from the Ender.”

  Camille’s eyes widened.

  “The Ender?” Mac asked.

  Tailor sighed. “The woman you nearly helped burn down the library. Meredith the Ender. All you need to know is that she is immortal, certifiable, and made out of fire. I don’t know why she’s come back here,” he said grimly, “and the sooner she moves on the better. You see a woman in leather, you stay away from her. Got it?” He looked curiously at Camille, who had gone fairly pale. “Alright, Teague?”

  Camille shook her head, as if to clear it. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, alright.”

  “Then please, all of you get out of this building before you cause any more damage. Good luck explaining your state to your mother,” he shot a look at Mac, who seemed chilled by the prospect.

  The others filed out the door ahead of me.

  “Jul, wait,” Tailor said. “A word.”

  I paused, looking back at him fearfully. It occurred to me just then that he was the only adult who hadn’t persisted in calling me Juliet.

  “Shut the door,” he said.

  I swallowed and did as he asked, returning meekly to stand by his desk.

  “Your grandmother told me you’ve met Gabriel Katsura,” Tailor said, folding his arms and leaning back against the desk. His gaze was cool and cautious behind his glasses. I wondered briefly if he would look less intimidating without them.

  “Are you going to tell me to stay away from him too?” I asked.

  “Absolutely yes,” he said. “Him, but not Camille. I think she can be freed from his influence, and I think you could use her attachment to you - ”

  “Use her?” I interrupted, surprising myself. “Gabriel’s been nothing but kind - he just wants to help. What has he done that’s got everyone so mad at him for? All I hear is what bad news he is, but you’re the one talking about using people - ”

  “Don’t,” Tailor snapped, with real venom, and I startled into silence. “Don’t you ever talk to me about using people - ”

  He froze, and turned away swiftly. What little I could see of his expression was blank. He let out a long breath. “No. I didn’t mean you. That wasn’t right. Forget that.” His hand went up to rub the back of his neck, his fingers in his mousy brown hair.

  “Is it my mom?” I asked. “Is...is that why you don’t like me?”

  I could see his shoulder muscles tense.

  “Ms. Miller said...that you all went to school together.” And she drew you all in her journal. “She said you didn’t get along.”

  He turned back then, and gave me a long, evaluating look, and again I got the feeling that he was waiting for something, as if th
ere was something under my skin that would reveal itself at any moment.

  “Simon was my best friend,” he said. “And she ruined him. In every possible way. So no, I’m not a fan of hers. She was like Gabriel that way. People just fell over themselves trying to make her happy. Simon included. I don’t trust charming people. They never say what they mean.” He looked at me again, then sighed, shaking his head. “But you’re not her. You look so much like her it’s hard not to treat you the same. Maybe if you looked anything like Simon it would be easier,” he smiled wryly. “But he was kind of an ass too.”

  “You sound like you need better friends,” I said.

  “Friends can be more dangerous than enemies,” he said. “I learned that the hard way. But not having any can be even more dangerous. The truth is that Kyra never did have friends. She had admirers, and Simon was obsessed with her - but she always kept everyone at arm’s length, even him. It was...unhealthy.” His brow creased. “You’re not her. And stupid as their actions have been today, you seem to have better taste in friends than I did, so I’m not going to tell you to abandon them. I will reiterate,” his gaze sharpened, “that you’re messing with some things that none of you are equipped to handle. Camille’s the only one of you with powers - unless you count Heron’s molting - and hers aren’t very strong. Not yet, anyway. Rin Umino is an extremely dangerous person to get on the wrong side of, and she already has a close eye on her. I thought when she arrived that she’d be a young female Gabriel,” he said, shaking his head. “I miscalculated, same as I did with you. My advice - do what you can to remove her from the Uminos’ watchlist, not push her higher up it. I’m going to have a hell of a time explaining how the prophetic scrolls they’ve been trying to translate for months just suddenly revealed themselves. How did you do that? How did you even get into the room?”

  “There was a key on the floor,” I found myself lying. “We used it and saw all the paintings. What do you mean, revealed?”

  He sighed. “Never mind. Just go home, and stay out of trouble until the festival. The principal is on the warpath making everything perfect.”

  I walked to the door and paused, thinking that despite his name-calling and stern looks, he wouldn’t be hiding our involvement unless he actually cared. I looked back at him. “You’re not as mean as you pretend to be, are you?” I said. So why was I lying to him?

  His mouth opened and closed, seeming to have no response.

  I smiled weakly, saying, “See you Monday,” and closed the door.

  Outside the front doors, Camille was waiting with Mac and Destin. They all looked at me expectantly when I stepped out into the cool morning air.

  “So,” Mac said, swiping some of the mud from his face. “We have some free time. Who wants to completely ignore what Tailor just said?”

  Chapter 14

  Mac

  “So...feathers, huh?” Jul looks askance at Destin.

  He cringes.

  “You are hereby sworn to absolute secrecy,” I tell her, pushing aside a low-hanging branch. “Both of you,” I glare at Camille. She returns the stare, unimpressed.

  We were trekking through the woods between the school and the Graham property - following the line between them until it dead-ended at a place I was sure would provide some answers: the remains of the old lumbermill.

  It had taken less time than I expected to bring them up to date on our run-in with the woman Tailor had called ‘the Ender’ - talk about an overkill title - and the girls had told us about some magic Tailor family sword that Hyde seemed all fired up to get his hands on, and the paintings Jul had popped spells on in the basement. Well, technically Jul had done pretty much all the explaining. Camille just kind of grunted approval here and there.

  “Yeah, but why feathers?” Jul seems genuinely curious.

  Destin shrugs, blushing. “How should I know? Feral powers aren’t predictable or inherited.”

  “It only happens when he’s freaked out, it’s no big deal,” I say, hopping over a fallen log.

  “I thought feral and fae powers weren’t supposed to show up until you turned sixteen,” Jul says.

  “Where’d you hear that?” I ask.

  “I was...there’s...” she stammers, “there’s a library. In my grandmother’s house. She um, doesn’t know I found it.”

  “When did we become juvenile delinquents?” Destin asks nervously.

  “Since nobody will tell us what’s going on,” I remind him. “Right, so this place we’re checking out - ”

  “Monster house?” Camille interrupts dryly.

  “I didn’t say it was a monster house, I said I saw the imp run in this direction, and the old lumbermill is out here. Me and Dez were doing some research on it since then, and check this out - the police report from forty years ago says it was burned down by a woman named Meredith, who was never apprehended. Tailor said she was immortal and made of fire, so that could be her.”

  “You forgot certifiable,” Destin says.

  “There were three people there at the time, doing inventory or something, and one of them died, a guy named Omen Taft. One of the other two was your grandmother, Jul. I mean, it has to be - how many Beatrix Grahams could there be in Havenwood?”

  Confusion crosses her face. “What does that mean?”

  “No idea. That’s why we’re checking the place out. That, and look for signs of the imp. Wow, I cannot tell you how nice it is to have an actual name for the stupid thing.”

  “Who was the other?” Camille asks.

  “Huh?”

  “The third? At the fire?”

  “Oh,” I say. “Some woman named Wilde. Zelda or Xena or something else crazy. I couldn’t find anything else on her, or the guy Taft. Not even a death certificate for him. It’s like that police report is the only proof either of them existed.”

  I look up, seeing tumbled-down brick and rotten wood planks rising out of the undergrowth.

  “Behold,” I say. “We’re here.”

  Camille raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. Jul is more tactful.

  “It looks...spooky?” she offers.

  “It does at night,” I say defensively.

  But it’s the middle of the day - so the old abandoned lumbermill almost looks picturesque. The woods have grown back in around it, and vines climb in and out the busted windows.

  “It’s condemned.” I say the word as menacingly as I can. “So that’s pretty hardcore. They keep talking about tearing it down, but nobody’s gotten around to it. Plus they’d have to re-clear a road to get in here.”

  Jul skirts around an empty bottle. “Nobody uh...lives here, right?”

  I shrug. “Sometimes people come out here on Halloween. That’s about it. I mean it’s wedged between three private properties - somebody would notice.”

  Camille stalks forward, pushing an overzealous hydrangea aside.

  “Just watch out for spiders,” I tell her.

  “Spiders?” Jul squeaks.

  “And poison ivy. Other than that it’s fine. Probably.”

  Camille shrugs and steps through the open door.

  “Is she afraid of anything?” I ask, but no one is listening.

  Inside the mill, the rusted remains of the sawing machines still rest in the wide loading bay, the garage-style door wide open to the sun. The small sections of the roof that aren’t totally burnt away are caved in around the metal rafters. Only the parts of the building that are metal or brick have held up in any capacity. The brick walls still hold a black char, and some of the metal railings show warping from the fire. Decades of pine needles and oak leaves carpet the concrete floor. There’s an office recessed from the main mill floor, with what used to be a wide observation window - but it’s cobwebs and shards now. There’s another door further back that interests me.

  I move past the corroded saw blades, glancing at the melted chains still hanging from one wall.

  Destin is pointing out the poison ivy trailing through one window to Jul, explaining how
to spot it by its glossy leaves.

  Camille turns around, head raised, nostrils flared. “Do you smell it?”

  Jul looks over at her, stepping towards the center of the mill floor, frowning in concentration. “Just pine and rust,” she says.

  Destin wanders into the office area, ducking clear of cobwebs. The floorboards creaks.

  “What is it?” I ask her.

  Frustration crosses her face. “Shimetta. Tsumetai. Water.”

  “Water doesn’t have a smell,” I say.

  “Yes it does,” Jul backs her up. “You know how things kind of smell different when they’re damp?”

  Camille points at Jul. “That. Yes, thank you.”

  “What, like there’s some leaky pipes around here or something?” I say. “There shouldn’t even be pipes. What would that mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Camille snaps.

  “I think Mac’s just jealous he doesn’t have a superpower,” Jul tells her.

  “I’d pick something other than super smell, that’s all,” I grumble.

  “Yeah, I picked this,” Camille returns.

  “Guys, cut it out,” Jul entreats us.

  “How about,” I say, trying to employ diplomacy, “you go track down the mystery of the old leaky pipes, and me and Jul will go check out the storeroom.”

  Camille gives me a look that all but says, Try anything funny and I’ll throw you into next week. She wanders over to the machinery and the open bay, looking out at the forest beyond.

  As if I’m ever not a total gentleman. Who does she take me for? Kei?

  Jul follows me to the windowed metal door - though this glass, like all the others, is broken too. “You could have a little more faith in her abilities,” she says. “She’s here to help too. She notices things no one else does.”

  “Hence letting her do her thing without me getting in the way making jokes about it,” I say, opening the door.

  This room still has most of its ceiling intact, with the exception of one gaping hole. There’s a moldy old mattress in one corner, and some boxes and old furniture piled up against one wall. Empty liquor bottles line a shelf, but they’re covered in a thick layer of dust so they’re probably leftovers from Halloween parties. The floor here is wood, not concrete like the rest of the place. Still no signs of the imp - but then again, I’m not entirely sure what to look for. A nest made out of my stolen comics?